


Little Saints

by Ducarion



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen, the fluff before the storm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28096383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ducarion/pseuds/Ducarion
Summary: Jean Valjean quietly enjoys what will be his last family Christmas at Rue Plumet.
Relationships: Cosette Fauchelevent & Jean Valjean
Comments: 10
Kudos: 8
Collections: Les Mis Holiday Exchange (2020)





	Little Saints

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShitpostingfromtheBarricade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/gifts).



Winter never settled well in Paris. It was not a town used to being idle, and the forced idleness that came with snow and biting wind clearly chafed. The character of the city was much at odds with M-sur-M, where even the most eager of merchants welcomed the occasional day to play house with their family and see familiar sights limned with white. Toussaint had spent no little time in the past few weeks lamenting that condition and the lack of romance in Jean’s soul. Personally, Jean failed to see the fuss; inevitably, any snow that landed in a town as big as Paris would be ground into slurry before dawn broke, and would in the meantime only be an inconvenience to the proper operation of industry. In Paris, as in his own city, Winter meant only a thousand sullen cart-drivers behind their horses churning the snow into mud, and ten thousand sodden pedestrians darting this way and that to avoid the slush.

However, nowadays it also meant a million aches that even Jean Valjean could not simply will away. Such pain could only be eased by close proximity to a hearty fire, and although Jean tried to insist that such favourable treatment was unnecessary Cosette was too canny not to herd him there.

As he had become accustomed to, Jean Valjean spent the eve of Christmas hunched beside the kitchen’s hearth. It was a modest blaze, but one that was tended to constantly as Toussaint went about her cooking, and thus much warmer than the rest of the house. Toussaint was always like that in the days leading up to a national holiday, no matter how Jean tried to calm her. Jean was torn between endeavouring to calm her, since he had little craving for anything when every meal was like a feast compared to the gaol, and humouring her because Cosette did indeed deserve the very best. Toussaint bustled about him, muttering various imprecations to the local shopkeepers that were likely quite untrue, but clearly moderated for vulgarity by her employer’s presence, as she baked. Toussaint’s baking was a little stodgy, but it was more than enough for an old man like Jean, and Cosette steadfastly refused to even suggest that it might be anything less than perfection.

Jean normally enjoyed assisting his daughter in cajoling Toussaint to act as part of their little family, but he really did wish that that she would cease to express her rebellious soul through her baking. At least, cease doing so quite so openly. He could not afford to arouse the curiosity of their neighbours by appearing as anything less than the staunchest of nationalists, and even his service as part of the National Guard might not be enough to quell rumours if they were expressed by Parisians of the class that their neighbourhood supported. He knew that pastry was a silly thing to get upset over, especially when he himself carved and openly displayed _santons_ , but Javert had deduced Jean’s identity from far fewer cues than that.

“Please, Toussaint,” Jean said, calling her over during the brief interval in which one batch of dainties had been set down to rest. “At least this year, do not bake your _Galette de rois_ for us. There has been unease in the city, and talk of another revolution in the future. I am sure that Cosette would favour minced pies just as much.”

“I can make minced pies too, sir, but madamoseille Cosette particularly likes the _Galette de rois_ too.”

“I do, papa,” Cosette said earnestly.

Jean turned to see his daughter in the doorway, and for a moment forgot to frown. “My dear, you look beautiful,” he said. “But please, be reasonable. There is a reason that it is called ‘idolatry in crusts’, and while I do not condone such labels, it would be wise to—”

“Father, no one cares about that anymore. I mean only that such words have not been spoken in the streets in years,” Cosette corrected herself, softening her words with a smile. “Toussaint told me so.”

“It is true sir,” Toussaint said. “It takes more than a mention of royalty to get anyone arrested now, especially in these parts. Everyone can eat anything on Dog Day, in Paris.”

Jean sighed. Apparently, Toussaint had been as canny enough to anticipate his address to her and await Cosette’s arrival before giving him the opportunity to speak. And, as always, Cosette’s arrival had proved to be his undoing. While he could order Toussaint to do as he wished, It was a secret most ill-kept that Jean could deny his Cosette nothing—nothing but her mother, and a more reputable man as her father, at least—and while Jean was very proud of having served her so well, at this moment he feared that his love felt very more like a liability.

If there was anything about his Cosette that Jean would change—and it felt like some bizarre form of blasphemy to even contemplate such a thing!—it would be that she thought too well of others. Cosette had grown into a young lady who was certain that she could both indulge others’ desires and please herself. It sometimes appeared as though Jean’s attempts to shield her from the predations she had suffered in her youth had made her forget the inalienable truth of human nature: that, to be redeemed from sin, one must first have sinned.

And in thus so doing, Jean feared his own tutelage would inadvertently bring his darling Cosette’s ruin. After all, Jean knew better than any man of Paris that the mere possession of grace and mercy could not turn this temporal world to one’s side. Else he would never have robbed the Bishop, an act that he was still seeking redemption for to this very day.

Yet the day when Cosette might have to discover all this without his aid was fast approaching, for Jean grew no younger and there seemed no sure way for her to encounter a husband worthy of her who would protect her also when she was locked away in this gilded cage that Jean had wrought.

Jean gestured for Cosette to sit by his side. She moved from the doorway without reservation, and stretched her hands out to warm them over the fire, leaning into him as she did so.

He was far more comfortable beside her than he had any right be be. 

Despite everything, when Toussaint met his gaze over Cosette's head and smiled, Jean could not help but smile too.

**Author's Note:**

> \- After the French Revolution, street nativities were banned. Santons (little saints) were tiny figurines to display in their house of French citizens going about daily life (and secret saints) that could be used to represent the Nativity and secretly maintain their religious beliefs. It seems like a practice Valjean might naturally have gravitated to, since he avoided communal religious gatherings.  
> \- 'Galette de rois' were made in honour of the three kings, and they were banned after the French Revolution because of the connotations of the name.  
> \- With the French Revolution, the calendar was rewritten and the days and months given the names of animals and plants. December 25th was Dog Day.


End file.
